


Something More Than Night

by StarAndMoon (TheDarkestStar)



Series: Something More Than Night [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Gen, Multi, Snippets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 12:17:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5048260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkestStar/pseuds/StarAndMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter NoirAU series. Originally published on my blog: http://punkdraco.tumblr.com/tagged/hpnoir</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Murder of Albus Dumbledore

There are three men in a room and two of them will die.

This is not a philosophical debate, not the premise of a logic puzzle; there is no way out of this. One way or another, the three men always end up in the same room, and the consequence is inevitable. All one can do is decide who leaves.

One man leaves the room and he is born in it; this is the second part, the part they always forget to tell, but it is important. You can’t get to the punchline without it.

The punchline is, of course, that he can never leave. He, the last man standing, makes the room in his soul for the ghosts in the shape of the place he was born in, and he feeds them with his blood until they are hungry no more.

But the ghosts are always hungry. See, this story is now filled with contradictions. No one can tell it right.

It was never a good story, anyway; quite meaningless, in the grand scheme of things.


	2. Neville Longbottom

At age four, young Neville was digging his first grave. 

A nestling fell from a tree; it tried to learn how to fly. Neville took it hard. He cried for hours, holding the limp body in his palms, his tears shining on the feathers; he would’ve cried for days if Grandma hadn’t found him hiding in the garden. She took the bird away. “Don’t cry,” she said simply. “There are things far worse than death.” She let him bury it, helped make a tombstone. After that was finished, Neville locked himself in a room for a day. She let him grieve. He was grieving. He was also building a birdhouse. The birds’ nest fell with the youngling; their home was broken.

***

There was no point to even try and recruit him, - not after what they did to his family. They let him live, not as an act of sudden compassion, but as a joke, as a lesson. An innocent little bug, with its wings torn off, struggling to stand on its feet, clumsy, irrelevant, almost pitiful. Like hounds, they could practically smell the terror on him. Blindsided by their arrogance, they, of course, failed to see the irony. There are things far worse than death, Neville learnt, watching his reflection in his mother’s eyes. There was nothing left for him to fear.


	3. Alastor Moody

It’s a damn shame what happened to old Alastor. The Last Good Cop. That’s what they used to call him, you know? Not the only thing they called him, of course. There were times when every single one of them at the Department turned on him, except that girl, Tonks, was her name? Yes, she was the only one still by his side, and the rest ——

See, once Crouch authorized the use of deadly force on all them members of Tom Riddle’s gang, no one thought twice about morality and all that stuff. As long as you get one name crossed, you’re did a good job. And if you’re persuasive enough, that one crossed name would give you ten more, right? That’s what they all thought. 

Not Moody though, no. He never cared for collars. Never could stand cruelty either. Always used to bring them suspects in alive, and even after the interrogations - not a single bruise on ‘em. Yeah, that’s how he lost his eye. He used to be “Mad Eyes”, you know? Got that name for staring at the suspect until he confesses. Or so they say. 

Anyway, a pair of sadists from the Riddle’s gang - caught him, cut his eye out and showed it to him. Were sloppy about it too. He got away, though. Even that time, brought them in alive. And when getting a fucking medal for it, got up on the stage, or what have you, and said “Am I supposed to stick it into my eye socket now," if you can believe that. That’s the kind of man Alastor Moody was.

After he lost his ear, that’s when things got worse for him at the department. See, they put a bomb inside his phone, and waited for him to call somebody to blow it up. Tried to kill him like that. Oh, there was blood everywhere, everyone thought his head had been in pieces, but see, that old fox, he never put the phone close enough to his head. Was afraid of getting cancer from the waves, or something like that. A stupid thing to believe in, but nonetheless, saved him.

Moody got paranoid after that. Was convinced it was an inside job, wouldn’t trust anyone. It wasn’t long after that that they sent him to an honorary retirement. He didn’t say nothing, got up right in the middle of all those “it will be good for you” bullshit, and left. Went into the private sector for a while, then teaching.

Well, you know how that worked for him all too well, I’m afraid.

And now - dead. A car accident, what an awful way to go for a man like that. Although, what is a good way to go? Shitting yourself in bed surrounded by family members the size of a small town? Nah, that was never in the cards for Mad Eye.

There was nothing waiting for him but blood and oblivion.

 


	4. Draco Malfoy

The first boy cries wolves when there are none. The boy is a liar. Is the boy a liar? Maybe he is worried. Maybe he is paranoid. Maybe the wolves have run away.

The second boy cries there are no wolves. The boy is a liar. The wolves are always there.

The third boy looks in the mirror. He snarls. Examines his teeth. Bites his tongue and fills his mouth with blood. _You are a wolf_ , says the mirror.  _I am a wolf_ , cries the third boy.

Everyone believes him.


	5. Ginny Weasley

When Ginny was younger, she was kidnapped by Tom Riddle, because she was Potter’s girl, and that’s what always happens to the hero’s girl in the story: she gets kidnapped by the villain and then waits to be saved, to be mourned, to be avenged.

But Ginny, she got away: from Tom Riddle, from Harry Potter, from the story altogether. Now she was the one who saved, who mourned, who avenged. Now she was the hero, and in her story, Tom Riddle couldn’t hurt her anymore. He was simply a memory.

 


	6. Remus Lupin

_ _

_“It is not the storm that makes the ocean dangerous.”_

“Fresh meat.” That was the name of the operation, or so Lupin was told. Maybe it was an inside joke he wasn’t let in on. An unpleasant man by the name of Crouch drilled him for about an hour, reminded him about the honor of being chosen, remarked through teeth about the feeble expectations for the operation to succeed, and off he went, right into the belly of the beast.

Deep undercover, with his files sealed, his distant friends crossing him off as a traitor, his loved ones doubting he wasn’t one, Lupin let go. The Wolves (that’s what they called themselves,  _“The Wolves”_ ) soon began trusting him blindly, seduced by his polite demeanor, his cold intelligence, his ability to rationalize every act of cruelty, every act of stupidity, without ever losing his patience. For that, they nicknamed him “The Professor”, though he never taught them anything. Or maybe they were just terrible students.

It was years before they noticed patterns in his behavior: how he never actually participated in the raids, never hurt anyone in front of witnesses… how he always rolled his eyes upon the mentioning of Tom Riddle, planting the seed of doubt in their minds… how it didn’t work, and so, one day, he simply went away. It was not until he reappeared as the prime witness at their trials that they figured out what his coldness really meant.

After the trials, no one saw him for a while, not that there was anyone left to care enough to keep tabs. Four years later, Crouch found him in a shelter somewhere. Lupin’s skin was covered in wrinkles not suited for his young age, his hair was getting gray, his clothes were torn in too many places to ever be properly sewed again.

“What happened to you?” Crouch should’ve asked, but he didn’t, because nothing could’ve happened to Lupin except himself. Instead, Crouch bought him a drink and said, half-questioningly: “I didn’t figure you’d be so afraid of The Wolves you’d let yourself become  _this._ ”

Lupin politely declined the drink. “You misunderstand.” He said simply. “It was not The Wolves I was afraid of.”

Crouch shrugged. “I have a job for you. We need to clean you up first, of course, you smell like rotten meat. Tomorrow, if you want to, you’ll be a whole new man. There aren’t many people of your talents left, you know. We need you. What do you say? Not interested? Well, too bad. Pity, really. But not surprising, I mean—“ he sneered. “Look at you. I don’t know what you are anymore. So long, then. Try not to die in a ditch somewhere.”

“I know what I am.” Lupin whispered, watching Crouch walk away. “I know what I am.”

He put on his hood, curled up in a corner on the floor next to a window, and watched the night creep up until he fell into a dark, dreamless sleep. A star was dying in the skies, but he had no wishes for it.


	7. Luna Lovegood

On the outskirts of the city, just slightly beyond the grasp of the neon lights, overgrown malls, and broken highways, there is an old white house with a little picket fence. “The girl who lives there is a witch,” the locals say, and stay away from the house, despite its welcoming gardens and never closed doors. “The girl there can see into your past.”

The guests from the city, survivors of many lives, predictably laugh at such old-age fears. “What kind of a gift is that?” they say with a scoff. “If she could see into my future, now that would be something to discuss.” But the villagers only shake their heads in reply, until someone starts explaining, patiently, quietly, as if to a child. “She sees the ghosts. Some are dragged on chains behind those who cruelly refused to let them find the serenity of death. Others, they are wandering side by side with those who did not notice they were gone. And then there is the third kind, the most desired, yet almost unnoticeable; far ahead, they are paving the way for those who could not move on. Luna sees them all. She does not speak with them; ghosts do not talk; she says they’ve said enough. They do not listen; they’ve heard enough. And they never, ever leave; they have nowhere else to go.”

Then a silence falls over the dining table, and the guests shift uncomfortably in their chairs, stealing glances into the windows, trying to catch Luna’s reflection on the frozen glass. Someone shivers, and someone else throws wood into the fireplace, to keep away the sudden cold.

The next day the guests from the city too avoid the old white house with a little picket fence, just to be safe, and shamefully lower their eyes passing Luna in the street, hoping she would not look at them, hoping she would not  _see_. They leave abruptly in the middle of the night, never to come back, and, like thunder after lightning, their ghosts follow.

Untouched by the city’s esurient hands, the town stays still.

 


End file.
